Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord
Page 63
“If you have learned that at such a young age, you shall be fine when it comes time for you to interact with the fairer sex,” Nick said. “I shall happily tell her that she is not ugly.”
He faced his reflection in the mirror, noting his young companion, watching him carefully in his irredeemably wrinkled cravat.
“I think you would make a good husband.”
Nick looked to James, decided to tell the truth. “I am not so certain.”
James’s brow furrowed. “Why not?”
Nick did not speak. What could he say to this boy that would make sense?
“Is it because you are not titled?”
“No. I do not think a title makes a good husband, always.”
“Nor do I. My father was not a very good husband.”
Nick nodded. “I am sorry to hear it.”
James shrugged. “I do not remember him.”
“Do you wish that you did?”
The boy thought for a long moment. “Sometimes.”
Nick drew in a deep breath at the word, so honest. He knew what it was to be a ten-year-old boy with no one to look to for guidance or help or advice. And he understood the confusion James was feeling with the man they called his father gone without ever having been more than a mystery. “What would you say if you could meet him now?”
James shook his head once. “I cannot meet him. He is dead.”
“It does not matter. What would you say? ”
James looked out a nearby window for a long minute before turning back to Nick. “I would tell him that I plan to be a much better earl than he was.”
Nick nodded solemnly. “I think that is a fine thing to say.”
James was silent for a moment, considering his words before adding, “I would also ask him why he did not want us.”
Nick did not like the tightness in his chest at the boy’s words, so familiar. Had he not asked himself the same thing for years after his mother had deserted them? “I cannot imagine that he did not want you.”
James’s large brown eyes were clear and forthright. “But you do not know.”
“No. I do not.” Nick felt the heavy weight of importance this boy would place upon his answer. “But I can tell you that if I were in his position, I would absolutely want you.”
“And Isabel?”
“And Isabel.” The truth of the words was rather startling to him, and he moved away to run a comb through his hair once more.
James tracked his movements. “Then you would consider marrying her? ”
A ghost of a smile crossed Nick’s lips. The young earl had clearly learned his tenacity from his sister. He set his comb down and turned back. He’d never seen anyone look as hopeful as James did in that moment, as though a proposal from Nick were all that it would take to make everything right.
What James did not know was that Isabel would want nothing to do with Nick when she realized the truth about him.
The thought grated. “I think that Isabel might not like the idea of us negotiating her marriage without her in the room.”
“I am earl, you know. This is the business of men.”
Nick barked in laughter. “And as a man who has a sister nearly as obstinate as your own, I suggest you never say that again as long as you would like to remain alive.”
James sighed. “Well, if it matters, I choose you for her.”
“I am flattered by your endorsement.” Nick raised a brow. “Has there ever been another man in consideration? ”
He should not be asking such questions.
James nodded. “Men come to collect her sometimes.”
Nick’s jaw went slack briefly. “To collect her?”
James nodded. “Mostly, they come because they’ve won her.”
“They’ve won her? As in, her heart?”
He did not like the idea of that.
The boy shook his head. “No. They’ve won her in a wager.”
Anger flared. Surely Nick had not heard that correctly. “They’ve won her in a wager with whom? ”
James shrugged. “With our father, I expect.”
Nick clenched his teeth. The idea that the former Earl of Reddich would have gambled away his only daughter—would have gambled away Isabel—was simply too much. Nick wanted to pummel something. Immediately. He clenched his fists tightly, imagining the pleasure he would take in putting his fist into the face of the smug aristocrat who had taken that bet. And the dead aristocrat who had suggested it.
He wanted to ask more, to gain more insight into this insane world where Isabel and James had been raised, but he could not. He forced himself to relax the muscles that had gone instantly alert at the boy’s revelation. It was not his place to ask about such things. At least, not right now.
Right now, he was going to dinner.
And then he was going to teach Isabel to dance.
Isabel had been about to go abovestairs to check on James and Nick when she heard them coming down the center staircase just outside the dining room. Her pulse quickened at the deep rumble of Nick’s voice in the hallway. Despite straining to do so, she could not make out his words; but the simple tenor of his deep, dark voice was enough to set her on edge.
She smoothed the skirts of her gown, immediately nervous about her appearance—it had been a long, long while since she’d had cause to wear an evening gown, and the one she had rescued from the depths of her wardrobe and had quickly aired that afternoon was embarrassingly out of style. Certainly the women with whom he socialized regularly in London were utterly au courant; they were surely beautiful and poised and would never dream of being seen in a dress more than a month old, let alone several years past its prime.
He faced his reflection in the mirror, noting his young companion, watching him carefully in his irredeemably wrinkled cravat.
“I think you would make a good husband.”
Nick looked to James, decided to tell the truth. “I am not so certain.”
James’s brow furrowed. “Why not?”
Nick did not speak. What could he say to this boy that would make sense?
“Is it because you are not titled?”
“No. I do not think a title makes a good husband, always.”
“Nor do I. My father was not a very good husband.”
Nick nodded. “I am sorry to hear it.”
James shrugged. “I do not remember him.”
“Do you wish that you did?”
The boy thought for a long moment. “Sometimes.”
Nick drew in a deep breath at the word, so honest. He knew what it was to be a ten-year-old boy with no one to look to for guidance or help or advice. And he understood the confusion James was feeling with the man they called his father gone without ever having been more than a mystery. “What would you say if you could meet him now?”
James shook his head once. “I cannot meet him. He is dead.”
“It does not matter. What would you say? ”
James looked out a nearby window for a long minute before turning back to Nick. “I would tell him that I plan to be a much better earl than he was.”
Nick nodded solemnly. “I think that is a fine thing to say.”
James was silent for a moment, considering his words before adding, “I would also ask him why he did not want us.”
Nick did not like the tightness in his chest at the boy’s words, so familiar. Had he not asked himself the same thing for years after his mother had deserted them? “I cannot imagine that he did not want you.”
James’s large brown eyes were clear and forthright. “But you do not know.”
“No. I do not.” Nick felt the heavy weight of importance this boy would place upon his answer. “But I can tell you that if I were in his position, I would absolutely want you.”
“And Isabel?”
“And Isabel.” The truth of the words was rather startling to him, and he moved away to run a comb through his hair once more.
James tracked his movements. “Then you would consider marrying her? ”
A ghost of a smile crossed Nick’s lips. The young earl had clearly learned his tenacity from his sister. He set his comb down and turned back. He’d never seen anyone look as hopeful as James did in that moment, as though a proposal from Nick were all that it would take to make everything right.
What James did not know was that Isabel would want nothing to do with Nick when she realized the truth about him.
The thought grated. “I think that Isabel might not like the idea of us negotiating her marriage without her in the room.”
“I am earl, you know. This is the business of men.”
Nick barked in laughter. “And as a man who has a sister nearly as obstinate as your own, I suggest you never say that again as long as you would like to remain alive.”
James sighed. “Well, if it matters, I choose you for her.”
“I am flattered by your endorsement.” Nick raised a brow. “Has there ever been another man in consideration? ”
He should not be asking such questions.
James nodded. “Men come to collect her sometimes.”
Nick’s jaw went slack briefly. “To collect her?”
James nodded. “Mostly, they come because they’ve won her.”
“They’ve won her? As in, her heart?”
He did not like the idea of that.
The boy shook his head. “No. They’ve won her in a wager.”
Anger flared. Surely Nick had not heard that correctly. “They’ve won her in a wager with whom? ”
James shrugged. “With our father, I expect.”
Nick clenched his teeth. The idea that the former Earl of Reddich would have gambled away his only daughter—would have gambled away Isabel—was simply too much. Nick wanted to pummel something. Immediately. He clenched his fists tightly, imagining the pleasure he would take in putting his fist into the face of the smug aristocrat who had taken that bet. And the dead aristocrat who had suggested it.
He wanted to ask more, to gain more insight into this insane world where Isabel and James had been raised, but he could not. He forced himself to relax the muscles that had gone instantly alert at the boy’s revelation. It was not his place to ask about such things. At least, not right now.
Right now, he was going to dinner.
And then he was going to teach Isabel to dance.
Isabel had been about to go abovestairs to check on James and Nick when she heard them coming down the center staircase just outside the dining room. Her pulse quickened at the deep rumble of Nick’s voice in the hallway. Despite straining to do so, she could not make out his words; but the simple tenor of his deep, dark voice was enough to set her on edge.
She smoothed the skirts of her gown, immediately nervous about her appearance—it had been a long, long while since she’d had cause to wear an evening gown, and the one she had rescued from the depths of her wardrobe and had quickly aired that afternoon was embarrassingly out of style. Certainly the women with whom he socialized regularly in London were utterly au courant; they were surely beautiful and poised and would never dream of being seen in a dress more than a month old, let alone several years past its prime.
